


I Feel Too Much

by PlatinumAndPercocet



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, F/M, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Minor Character Death, Music, Musicians, POV Alternating, POV First Person, Rain, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2019-09-17 02:22:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16965909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlatinumAndPercocet/pseuds/PlatinumAndPercocet
Summary: An arranged, although unexpected connection, brake lights on wet pavement and  surprises in the most unexpected places.





	1. There's A Hole Inside Of Me The Shape Of You

**Author's Note:**

> This is... well, I am not sure. Inspiration has been lacking of late but somehow this has been nagging me for months and I finally decided to regress, as it were, and post it. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this little tale. 
> 
> Much love and thanks to Laudanum_Cafe for encouraging me and to Snitches for just being her. 
> 
> Aural satisfaction: Super Fade by Fall Out Boy

It was pouring outside; that alone wasn’t unusual, not at this time of year, but the clouds that covered the horizon, heavy, dark and a deep grey-green that never signified anything good to come sent a chill down my spine as the first drops of rain fell, fat and cold against the windshield. They were just a warning, almost a tease of sorts before the sky opened up and the deluge began; the water was everywhere in an instant, causing the kind of strange panic that only occurs during inclement weather. The people that had been strolling along the sidewalks shrieked as they ran for cover wherever they could; under an awning, inside a doorway, anything to keep them from the moisture that would… what? Melt them? The likelihood of that happening was slim to nil, to say the least. As the people on the sidewalks scattered, I rolled down my window and draped my arm out, basking in the chill as the flimsy material of my shirt was instantly drenched. Traffic had slowed to a crawl, as it often did along the lake during days like this, and I let my thoughts wander as I watched the red brake lights in the distance; not too far though, never too far. Brake Lights and shining, wet roads were too much still, even after years and I could feel that familiar flutter-squeeze in my chest as I fought, unsuccessfully, to push down the memories that seemed determined to claw their way back into my conscious, as if they ever really left. 

On a good day, I could sometimes fool myself; pretend that I didn’t feel too much. Most days were not good days, especially not today. The harsh scent of antiseptic seemed to still linger in my nostrils, underscored with a bitterness that could only be described as desperation; the sharp smell of sweat and medicine, of accepting fate or bargaining for just a little bit more. I hated it. My stomach turned at the memories and I fought against the bile that threatened to rise, instead rolling down all of the windows and turning up the music as loud as possible to drown them out. 

My ears were aching by the time I pulled to a stop in my parking place and the silence was deafening as I pressed the ignition button and sat for a moment, acclimating to the sudden lack of, well anything. There was the rain, of course, that was constant, and the roll of thunder beyond that, the heavy scent of rain and an impending chill in the air but the street was too empty, too quiet. There were no cars at this hour, not quite yet, although I lived at the end of a cul-de-sac so there wasn’t ever really a huge amount of traffic. The buses had come and gone, and families were probably just settling down to dinner right about now; most normal people were wrapping up their day and starting their evenings. I wasn’t normal, not anymore. 

I was dripping wet when I finally dashed through my front door, locking it securely behind me, and the overly cold air conditioning was welcome if only for the fact that it snapped me awake, the hairs on my arms prickling up as I stripped out of my wet clothes, unceremoniously depositing them in the washing machine without another thought. My bare feet were quiet on the hardwood as I made my way through my apartment. It was small and cold; white and chrome almost sterile and very, very solitary. Just enough for one person. The house, with its extra bedrooms and warmth, was long since gone, sold to pay for the myriad of bills that never seemed to get any smaller. I always entertained the thought of getting a kitten, something small and fluffy, but I just hadn’t gotten around to it. 

Clothing and purse deposited in their places, I scrolled through my phone until I found the playlist I was looking for, aptly titled CALM THE FUCK DOWN, and hit play, finally letting out and unknowingly held breath as music pierced the veil of silence that hung over the entire space, just loud enough for me to get out of my head and get ready for work. 

It was always the same, no matter what; ritual was huge in what I did, at least to me; powders and potions, silk and lace… all of the things that can transform a pretty girl into something more, something worthy of attention and adoration. Someone other than me. With the music just this side of too loud, I turned the shower on as hot as possible and watched as my reflection in the mirror fogged and clouded, obscuring my vision until I couldn’t see anything else. It was a good start. 

One hundred and twenty minutes; that was what it took to transform myself from a bonafide hermit into a woman I didn’t know and could barely recognize. The figure in the full-length mirror was familiar enough of course, but that was it. Jeans, tattered sneakers, soft t-shirt and a cardigan that was worn thin with age and wear had been exchanged for a sleek black dress, heels that had a splash of red peeking from beneath them and lingerie that cost more than I used to make in a single day. A messy braid and glasses had given way to a sleek updo, pins anchored and hidden in the fake hair that was clipped tight against my scalp and a pair of contacts that I loathed. My bag, practical and older than I could remember, was traded for a small clutch, just enough room inside for the tools of my trade as it were; a tube of lipstick and a phone that only had one number in the contacts. The flash of headlights across the wall was blurry but not as much as it could be, the only signal that it was time to go. 

The ride was brief but luxurious, the piped music from the hired car was passively pleasing, more background noise than anything, and I watched as the sunset, dipping towards the horizon as the sky grew darker. By the time we pulled to a stop in front of the gleaming doors of The Grant, the sun had vanished, casting the city in shadows and sparkling lights. The phone in my bag had chirped with a single text consisting of nothing more than a name and a number just as the car slowed. The driver bid me a goodnight with a knowing smile as I stepped out into the chilly air, my heels clicking on the asphalt as I made my way towards the building that I still felt out of place in. This wasn’t my world, it never would be really, but it helped pay the bills, at least some of them, and it was only temporary. That's what I had been telling myself for the last four years… it’s only temporary; just a blink in time, a moment even. Somehow though, as I stood in an elevator that glided silently up the floors, the lights blinking the only sign that I was even moving, the thought of another moment seemed to drag on for a century. The doors slid open with a soft whir, the mirrored surface giving way to a lushly carpeted hallway, with doors spaced far enough apart to signify both wealth and the privacy that it bought. As I stopped in front of the number indicated in my text, I exhaled a long breath, ignoring the shaking in my hand as I knocked lightly on the door and waited to see what exactly was on the other side.


	2. The World Can Get My Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another look at a first encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternating POVs? Sure.   
> Again, eternal thanks to Laudanum and Snitches for the handholding and general amazingness.

I was nervous. Mind bogglingly, hand shakingly, unexplainably nervous and there was no reason for it, not really. This was nothing. A blip, something some people did all the time, something that was just normal. Well, the purpose behind it was normal anyway, if not the procedure to get there. 

Beyond the windows, a storm beared down on the city that I loved, marring the surface of Lake Michigan, drenching the city streets and occasionally alighting the clouds that lay beyond the glittering lights of the skyline. The windows gleamed, their shine almost mirror-like, and I avoided my slightly warped reflection; I knew what I looked like, the reminder wasn't necessary. Turning away from the spectacular view, I paced the hardwood floors, telling myself I was doing anything but as I fiddled with knick-knacks and books, arranging them just so. I'd left work early to tidy up, although I didn’t know why; the cleaning service I used was thorough and, aside from my work clothes tossed haphazardly in my laundry basket and the beer bottle that was sweating on the breakfast bar, the apartment was immaculate. 

Now I just had to wait and wonder; that was the hard part. I wasn't a fan of not being in control of things and this…well, I certainly was anything but in control. My work was, in that sense, perfect for me; being a producer was literally a position of control and I loved it. I was good at it too, a few awards and records scattered across my walls and on my shelves, but that dedication was part of what had me in this situation. 

The comment had been offhand, something Pete had tossed out after another week of sixteen hour days. “You need to get laid.” It had come out on a laugh after my best friend had literally ducked from a book that I had possibly thrown in his general direction after not being able to get a track just right. Although I had flipped him off before leaving, the words hung with me, lingering at the back of my mind. 

I’d heard of an agency, whispers of numbers passed around in secret, and spoken highly of. I never thought I would end up hiring a hooker-an escort, for any reason but working nearly 100 hour weeks didn't leave a whole lot of time for socializing and I refused to date anyone I worked with. It was Pete, of course, that actually got me the number and it sat, untouched, on my bureau for almost a week before I finally gave in and called. 

There was an impressive and rather reassuring screening process and then it was just a matter of waiting. Half of the money had already been transferred out of my account and the other half sat, in large bills, in a drawer in the same bureau that the number had sat on. Just. Waiting. And that was driving me crazy. 

I could hear the second hand on the clock ticking and the silence was deafening the closer it got to when she was supposed to arrive. Snatching my phone from the coffee table, I scrolled through Spotify and selected a playlist at random, relaxing as soon as the music flowed through the speakers. 

Music was comfortable in a way that nothing else was; I could speak in it in ways that I never could with words and that was why I did what I did. Grabbing a nearby notebook, I flipped through it quickly to find a blank page and then scrawled ideas across the page. Words, music, it didn't matter, it got me out of my head. Until, that is, there was a knock on the door. And then all the nerves came slamming back. I jumped to my feet, the notebook tumbling to the floor, and adjusted both my shirt and cardigan just so before futzing with my hat as I headed to the door. Nervousness was pooling, wet and sticky in my belly, and I exhaled deeply before pulling the door open. 

 

I'm not sure what I was expecting but the woman standing in the hallway was not it. Yes, I had filled out a literal application but I was taking it with a grain of salt. She was petite, and barely met my eyes even in her heels, long dark blonde hair swept up in some kind of complicated looking twist and a black dress that spoke of understated class. I, of course, stared like a fool because of course I did. The girl was smiling knowingly, her head tilted to the side and a brow raised in a silent question. 

“Oh shit uh, come in please.” I stuttered over the words like a fucking idiot and stepped back, gesturing vaguely with the hand that was still holding onto the door for dear life. She slid by easily pausing in the doorway to my living room.

“Thank you.” The woman glanced around with a coolly approving gaze, her eyes lingering on the picture windows for just a moment before returning to me. “I'm Erin by the way. Patrick, right?” Erin. It didn't suit her somehow, but who was I to question?

“Yeah, uh, yes. I'm Patrick. Thank you. Can   
I get- would you like something to drink? Did you want to sit?” I was all but stuttering, my palms sweating like I was in high school again as I stood in my own entryway, Jesus Christ. 

“No, I'm okay. Why don't you come sit?” Erin had perched on of my couch and her gaze, warm and gorgeous, followed me as I shifted my weight between my feet, patting the couch beside her, purse on the coffee table.

“Okay, I can-yeah.” I finished my beer in three long pulls, the label wet and shredding under my palms before I set the empty bottle back on the counter and crossed to sit, stiff and awkward on my couch. “I've never… I mean, I have but not with-” I did stutter that time, and Erin laughed softly, her smile small and warm. 

“Don’t worry about it, I promise you're fine.” Her voice was sweet, an almost jarring contrast to the small hand that slid easily over my knee.

“I think… I mean, I'm not…” I was stuttering, tripping over my words as Erin's hand trailed up my thigh, a smile playing on her lips.

“I know. Tell me, Patrick, what do you want?” The couch shifted slightly and her breath was warm and sweet against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine and a spark through my veins. It had been months, probably closer to a year since I'd been touched by anyone with any sexual intent of any kind, and that had been Pete, my occasional bedfellow when we had time and energy providing we were both single at the time, and my dick was very much reacting in kind, even as I fought back a moan. 

“You. I want- everything.” I sounded like a damn fool, but Erin didn't seem phased in the slightest, her fingertips skating over the bulge in my jeans, pressing down just so before vanishing completely. She moved again, slipping from the couch and standing in front of me, that same knowing smile on her lips as she lowered the hidden zipper on her dress and slid it down, shaking her hips until it fell in a pool at her feet. Black lingerie, silk and lace that I wanted to touch more than anything, stood out against pale, creamy skin. 

Hands rested on my thighs again, spreading my legs apart and then Erin was on her knees, glancing up at me through her lashes, deft fingers tugging on my belt and pulling open the button on my jeans. 

“Up and off?” It was a question delivered in a voice that was honey over gravel and I couldn't think of denying her, not for a second. Bracing my feet against the floor, I pushed my feet up and shivered as the overly chilled air of the apartment rushed over my warm skin as my jeans and boxers were shoved to my ankles. My nails scraped against the couch as Erin's hand, small and warm, wrapped around my cock. The moan that caught in my throat was almost embarrassing, and I could feel the heat flooding in my cheeks. “Tell me, Patrick… what can I do for you? What do you want?” I reached out, gazing down at Erin as she sat back on her heels, hazel eyes wide as she slowly worked my dick in a constant, dragging rhythm.

“Take your hair down?” It was a stuttered request, tumbling from my lips and she smiled, a soft laugh ringing through the air as the warmth of her touch vanished. Her hands slipped into her hair, and pulled the pins out. They scattered across the hardwood in a series of soft clicks as long blonde hair tumbled down over Erin's shoulders. I needed to touch, I had to, and I slipped my hands into the soft strands, as she turned into my touch, humming against my palm, eyes wide as she glanced back up at me, easily tugging my shoes and jeans off and pushing them aside. 

“Bedroom?” It was a question, just a single word and my mouth tongue was heavy as I watched Erin rise to her feet, her hand outstretched. 

“Show me?” And I did, slipping my hand into hers and leading her down the hallway towards my bedroom as the rain began to fall heavier outside.


	3. Trophies And Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking hours and undecipherable organization systems....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... hi. This happened I have been sick and this is the first time I have really been able to sit and write, energy wise. I'm not entirely sure what this is, and you will probably have more questions than answers but hey . We are back to Erin's POV and it will continue toalternate as we progress. We dont get super explicit because well, I AM QUESTIONING MYSELF. But... I love this universe and hope you enjoy it as well.
> 
> This was not betaed, and was run through grammarly so maybe it makes sense. I heard all my mistakes. You can't have them  
>  They are mine. 
> 
> Comments and kudos make the world go around my dears.
> 
> 3ndless thanks and love to Laudanum_Cafe for the handholding and encouragement, SnitchesAndTalkers for the cheerleading even when she didnt realize it and SecretStudentDragonBlog for the affirmations and friendship. 
> 
> All the love to the Birb Pack for inspiring me every day. 
> 
> Aural Satisfaction: Super Fade by Fall Out Boy because REASONS OKAY?

It was always so much harder with the cute ones. I couldn't help my slight smile as I slipped from the bed and shrugged on a hastily discarded cardigan, my nimble fingers fastening the buttons. It was far from decent, barely hanging down over my panty clad ass, but the sleeves hung long over my fingertips and the fabric was so, so soft. It didn't hurt that it smelled good either. Patrick was still asleep and he looked both young and almost absurdly angelic, his skin pale against the dark green sheets and his hair mussed from the combination of sleep and my fingers taking through it. My feet were silent on the hardwood as I slipped out of the room and down the stairs towards the kitchen, my path illuminated equally by small nightlights built into the outlets and the lights of the city outside the rain-speckled windows. 

I paused in the kitchen to fish in my purse, responding quickly to the one number in my phone. Check-ins were not to be missed, although there was a bit of leeway, for the most part, but a fully missed check was cause for alarm, and there would be security that showed up without a second thought. I had been fortunate enough to have not been on the receiving end, but I had met Marcus and Evan a few times when they had covered for the regular transportation in a pinch. 

The kitchen was immaculate and designed for Patrick’s height which was actually quite enjoyable. It only took rummaging in a few cabinets before I found a glass and filled it with water from the dispenser built into the fridge; it was cold and crisp, perfect on my parched throat as I finished the first glass and filled a second before leaving it on the counter and wandering into the living room. 

The shelves that covered one wall were packed tightly with a vast array of music of all varieties; I couldn’t read the spines of the CD’s, but I dragged my fingers across the rows and rows of vinyl that dominated the shelving unit, pulling them out at random. The covers were eclectic, everything from Duke Ellington to Led Zeppelin to Prince, arranged in some sort of a system that I absolutely could not wrap my head around. They felt familiar beneath my fingers, the feel and smell transporting me back in time far more easily than I would have liked. I could remember moments, imprecise and yet exact pinpoints in time with the kind of accuracy that scared me, anchored by nothing so much as a note or an album cover; but I couldn’t remember his voice, not as much as I should have. Squeezing my else closed against the onslaught of memories that threatened to break over me like a tidal wave, I exhaled sharply, counting from ten to one in my head. This was not the time nor the place. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” The voice pulled me from my musings and I took just a fraction of a moment to compose myself before opening my eyes and turning to face Patrick as he stood in the doorway looking adorably sleep-rumpled, his hair everywhere and his glasses slightly crooked as he blinked owlishly against the lights. 

I shrugged with a small smile, far more casual than it should have been. “I’ve never really been a good sleeper, especially during storms.” The wind and rain were still pounding outside, although the sounds were muffled by the layers of windows and the dull hum of the central air. 

“Sorry to hear that.” Patrick’s voice was still heavy with sleep, and raspy with something else entirely as he shifted from foot to foot. 

“It’s okay, I promise. I’m used to it by now.” It wasn’t entirely the truth, but I got paid, quite literally, to speak in partial truths and distractions. “ Tell me about your music. You work in the industry, right?” If Patrick was surprised at my observation, he didn’t show it, save for the slightest widening of his eyes for an instant. Despite being relaxed from sleep there was still a tightness in the set of his shoulders that seemingly vanished as he made his way towards the shelves where I was standing, his fingers trailing easily along the rows and rows of albums. 

“Am I that obvious?” Patrick’s cheeks were tinted pink at the words as he glanced down at me behind his glasses. I shook my head, and gently wriggled my fingers at him. 

“Not in the slightest; your calluses gave you away. That and your incomprehensible organizational system. What exactly do Prince and Ozzy have to do with each other?” The words came out on a laugh and got exactly the response I was hoping for. A huge grin blossomed across Patrick’s face, genuine and eager. 

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you. The really good stuff is in my office if you want to see.” It wasn’t the stuttering question of when I had first arrived, we were far too well acquainted for that, but there was a moment of hesitation, just slightly, and I nodded, brushing the stray locks of hair behind my ears. 

“I’d like that, thank you.” It was honest and simple; I had found, over my years in this industry, that this was absolutely the best way to go about anything. Patrick nodded eagerly, his hair falling just barely in front of his eyes, and rested a hand on the small of my back as we made our way through the house. I could feel the warmth of his skin radiating through the thin sweater and it was, for just a moment, a little bit too much. It vanished, however when we stepped into what I presumed was his office, and the lights flickered on. 

A rich, cherry desk sat in front of one wall, facing the wall of windows, a laptop glowing at its center. There were papers stacked meticulously across the surface, and pens scattered with less care; they were all different colors of ink in the same brand, and I made note of it. There were more shelves in here, on two of the remaining walls, some scattered with music, some with books and still others with what looked like awards of some kind, although from this distance,m I couldn’t place them. Behind the desk, anchored and mounted on the walls, were three albums encased in glass, the gold of the records themselves almost glowing. I recognized them all, but there was one, the first one it would seem, that had my breath catching in my throat and my fingers, although they shouldn’t have, traced easily over the cool glass that covered the album cover. 

“That was the first album I produced that went gold and I am still more proud of it than any other. You know it?” Patrick sounded both pleased and surprised in equal measure and I dipped my head in a nod, fighting the emotion that threatened to creep into my voice. That was an understatement, to say the least. 

“I do. I actually knew one of the session musicians, in another life.” It wasn’t a lie, not really, but there was so much more to it than that. 

“Really, which one? I have a copy if you’d like to listen.” There was a certain lightness in Patrick’s voice that was familiar in an impossible way that I couldn’t possibly deal with, not here and not now. 

“Not now… I mean, I can’t- how about a shower, hmm?” The change of topic came abruptly, although it wasn’t entirely out of left field; we had worked up a bit of a sweat in his sheets and during my brief peek into the master bath, I’d been more than a little tempted. Patrick didn’t seem to disagree and nodded eagerly, almost adorabley, as he followed me out of the room and up the stairs to the second floor. 

We were still damp, water clinging to our skin and dripping from our hair when we tumbled back into the bed after our shower which, honestly, had consisted more of getting dirty than clean; I didn’t complain in the slightest. I’d learned long ago to leave supplies anywhere I thought they would be necessary and glancing up at Patrick from my knees in the shower, his head tilted back into the waterfall spray, I hadn’t been disappointed. He was beautiful in a way that many of the men who hired me weren’t; with a certain softness in both body and attitude that I wasn’t used to, but absolutely enjoyed, and one that did NOT extend to his cock, thank fuck. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Patrick’s voice was soft, his warm breath ghosting over my ear as his long fingers flitted with my hair. I gave a nod, pressing into the touch like a cat and earning a soft chuckle. 

“You can ask anything; I may not answer, but you can ask.” Again, honest was the best policy in this case although there were limits to my answers. 

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” The response was soft, muttered against the crown of my head. “Do you… always fake it or is that just- I mean, with me?” He seemed nervous again, and unsure; closer to the man that opened the door than the one that had fucked me against the shower wall, pretty lips whispering the most filthy, beautiful words. I was more than a little surprised and felt the color rising in my cheeks as I squirmed around to face Patrick. 

“It’s a work thing, really. I don’t- the men I usually work with pay me for a service, for a role, for a purpose, and a very singular one at that. That’s my job, and my satisfaction is an afterthought if that. I’ve never gotten off while I worked.” It was one of the only full truths I had shared tonight, and strangely the most exposing one; although it kept other questions from being asked. 

Patrick looked concerned; confusion was written on the pretty contours of his face as I brushed aside a stray drop of water from his temple, the hair catching between my fingers soft and damp, a shade darker than the cinnamony-color it was when dry. “ I don’t- really? Nobody else has… Jesus. That’s fucking shitty.” The words were disjointed but not in the same way of a few hours earlier; there was something beneath them, an understanding and almost upset combined with a post coital heaviness that seemed out of place with what I had come to know of the clients that I saw. “I absolutely take umbrage with that fact, and I’m sorry.” 

I laughed softly, shrugging the nameless, faceless men from my mind and I squirmed and rested my head on Patrick’s shoulder, giving the blankets a tug. “No apologies unless you harm me, and I know you won’t. Let’s rest, hmm? You sound tired.” It was the truth, simple and soft; easy in a way many others weren’t. Patrick didn’t complain or argue, simply nodding and tugging me close. He was cuddly and lose, inhibitions lost somewhere between pushing his sweater off my shoulders and pressing me against the slick shower wall with one hand twisted in my hair, and the other gripping my hip; it was a stark contrast, although one I found myself enjoying and I let my eyes drift closed, just for a few minutes, as his breathing evened out and the storm, raging outside the windows for so long, finally began to dissipate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on Tumblr, we can fangirl over music and my faves!


	4. Call It A Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories and a familiar face.... And some filth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I am surprised too. I kind of forgot that I could write for a while there, but though some amazing support from my beautiful friends Laudanum_Cafe, SnitchesAndTalkers, DasVerlorneKind, GlitterAndRocketfuel and SecretStudentDragonBlog for being so constantly supportive and lovely, and Glitter for kicking my ass into gear.
> 
> Not beta'd because that is how I roll, but I did use Grammarly so it will stop shaming me.
> 
> Thank you all so much for taking the time to read this mess; comments make world go round.
> 
> Aural satisfaction: Super Fade by Fall Out Boy

Pete was being a bitch. Again. This was not entirely unusual for him, although I kind of wished that he could maybe cool it for just a few minutes. Then again, when you have known someone for nearly all of your life, see them through the highest of highs and devastating lows, well… that kind of comes with the territory. Right, this minute though, with Pete’s head between my thighs, his breath warm and teasing against my cock, well… it was more than a little bit infuriating and I was pretty much done with it. Then again, when Pete looked up at me all whiskey eyes and Cheshire smiles, what the hell was I supposed to do? 

“Tell me about her, Trick.” The words were a tease, drifting to my ears above the music that spilled quietly from the speakers. It was familiar, as it should have been; I had produced it, and it was my first real success. But since the night with Erin, I'd been listening to it more, paying attention to the subtleties that time had to lead me to forget and wondering, even though I knew I shouldn’t, just who it was that Erin knew, and how. It was a dangerous path that I was walking, I knew that, but I'd always followed the rules and done what I was supposed to, how I was supposed to; surely a little bit of wonder and indulgence wouldn’t hurt anything. Right? Right. 

"She's an escort. Blew me on the couch, we fucked in the bed and then again in the shower. End of, now come on asshole, suck my dick." The frustration I felt, while genuine, was belied by the soft twist of my fingers into Pete's hair as he looked up, his amber eyes shining with mirth and his hand, the one not currently wrapped around the base of my cock, was resting over the obvious bulge in his jeans. Pete was an infuriating fucking tease at the best of times and now was absolutely not that. His tongue was trailing over the underside of my cock before it vanished as he sat back on his heels, smiling all bright white and fucking enticing.

"Nu-uh. That is telling me about what you did, not about her. Try again, Trick." Pete knew what he was doing, the moonlight shining on tawny skin and black ink, his hand moving in a slow rhythm beneath his jeans. "Tell me and I'll make it worth your while…"

I huffed, sliding my hand between my legs and squeezing over Pete's fingers and he breathed hotly and licked his lips. "Watching a lot of porn now that Hayley is back in Charleston?" The words were tossed off easily, and I watched as Pete laughed, his eyes crinkling in the corners. 

"Just a little." He wriggled, somehow maneuvering his tight pants down and off before kicking them away with a grace that he absolutely should not possess, the suave motherfucker before dropping back to his knees. "And can we not talk about my ex while fucking around please? Pretty sure you don't want my dick soft."

I snorted, giving Pete's hair a tug and smiling down at him. The man was a menace, truly. For all his big talk and bravado, he was a serial monogamist and was always in contact and actually on good terms with the mothers of both of his children. "I know your dick well enough by now to know that it would be fleeting, especially while you are giving head, now if you could actually sick my dick?" 

Pete, ever the tease, smiled all bright white and gleaming, nipped at my thigh. "You know I will, but not until you answer the question." His hand was moving ridiculously slowly between my legs, fingers ghosting between my cheeks and his breath warm on the head of my cock. That asshole.

"Fucking fine. She was beautiful, okay? She was so petite she almost made me feel tall. Long blonde hair, although some of it was extensions I think, but I didn't pull too hard. Mouth like a dream and surprisingly honest, I think. She likes music and knows one of the session musicians from Grace. She faked it, and said she never came at work but I refuse to believe that and kinda want to see if that is something that can be changed a-fuck!" My words were cut off on a groan as Pete finally slid his mouth over my dick, his lips meeting his hand. If it were possible to smirk while giving head, Peter fucking Wentz was doing it. 

I was never one to compare partners, but afterwards, laying in a sweaty, sticky mess with Pete, sheets twisted around our limbs, mine pale and Pete’s a shade of honey gold that came from heritage and a love for the outdoors ( which was obviously not a favorite of mine), my mind wandered to the last person that had shared the bed with me. It was different, obviously, as there was an intrinsic and decidedly large thing lacking between the two and my ass, aching beautifully, was a testament to that fact. It was so very familiar with Pete, this thing we had; what had begun with clumsy fumblings in the alleys behind clubs I was far too young to get into had turned into something else entirely; he had been my first, and certainly not my last. I loved him more than anyone else in the world, and was attracted to him because I am not fucking blind, but if we were ever anything more than this, anything besides the occasional tumbles in bed and an insane amount of cuddling when he was single and I was not working, we would have killed each other. My temper got the best of me more often than not and the number of items I had thrown at his head, my fists not excluded, was too high to even keep count. But this, whatever we were, without a name and just being us, well it worked. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Pete’s voice was lazy and slow, laced with that honey-syrupiness that came with great sex. 

“How are the girls?” The question was a lie, but not an entire untruth; I really did want to know. Pete, of course, did not hesitate to call me on my shit.   
“I guaran-goddamn-tee you were not just thinking about my kids after we fucked, but I will give it to you. And they are great, actually. Gracie called me last night and she and Ash are going to Disney next week and will be coming by. And Ava… Jesus, she is so big already. Hayley is back with her parents showing her off but should be home in a few weeks. You gonna carve some time out of your busy schedule to see them? Gracie asked about you and you KNOW that you want to see your namesake.” I couldn't;t see his face, but I knew Pete was smiling, he always did when he talked about his girls. As disastrous as he and Ash’s brief marriage had been, and it really had; the whole thing was a shitshow, the little girl they had together was a testament to the fact that good could come from disaster. Weirdly, the two were even closer now, and I had no doubt that the five-year-old with her father’s eyes and her mother's blonde curls had everything to do with that. And Ava… well, Hayley was a friend, a long time one at that, and what was meant to be something casual ended up being not so much when the petite redhead got pregnant. Again though, through some weird Wentzian voodoo, he was more connected with Hayley not that the three-month-old was officially in the world. Entrepreneur, label owner, father, serial monogamist, and closet romantic; Pete Wentz could do it all with a smile and a horrible sense of fashion. 

“You know I will. Bring her over, for a night and you two can go out; I still have the crib from when you stayed here while you and Ash were… whatever you and Ash were.” I rarely had people in my house, the cleaning service, and Pete being the only real exceptions, and I loathed overnight guests, so the two spare bedrooms were wholly unnecessary. I did keep one ready in case someone needed a place to stay in the city, but the other was a nursery, a simple one, but a nursery. No matter how much I wanted, and I did, there was no real way to balance work and personal life long enough to even date someone, much less actually start a family. Hell, I was hiring escorts just to be able to have sex; if that wasn't a testament to how much I really shouldn't have kids, I don't know what was. 

“You’re a good Godfather, you know that?” Pete’s voice had turned earnest as he curled against me, arms and legs wrapped around me like a sweaty, sticky octopus. He punctuated the words with a sloppy kiss to my cheek and I shook my head, feeling the heat in my already ruddy skin. 

“Yeah, yeah. I do what I can. Now, can we go take a fucking shower? I'm sore and disgusting.” Again, my mind betrayed me and drifted back to Erin, despite my fighting against exactly that. Pete, observant asshole that he was, didn't miss a beat and just grinned as he hopped out of bed, all tanned limbs and black ink, whistling under his breath as he headed to the bathroom. I heard the water turn on before I had even moved and laughed as he started singing, horribly as was his wont, over the spray. I had to wince as he absolutely butchered Elton John, although knowing Pete, that was exactly the plan. I moved a lot slower than usual; it had been a long time since I’d been fucked and the ache and slight burn, while kind of perfect, was a reminder of that fact. Pete didn’t stop singing ‘Rocketman’ until I got in the shower behind him, chucking a washcloth at his head and missing horribly. I didn’t really sports. It earned a laugh though, and that was good enough. 

“C’mere, Trick. I’ll wash your hair if you tell me more about your hooker. Are you going to see her again?” The question, coming from anyone else, would have probably earned them a punch, at the very least, but Pete was Pete and he could get away with things literally nobody else in the world could. 

 

The question was loaded, and one that I had been weighing since Erin had left that night three weeks ago. I had weighed the risks and benefits, pros and cons… hell, I had made fucking lists, but still didn’t have an answer so I hummed non committally as I handed Pete the ridiculously expensive honey shampoo that was a stupid indulgence I’d come to love. 

“That, Patrick Vaughn Stump, was NOT an answer.” His voice was teasing as he worked up the suds into a fragrant lather, scrubbing against my scalp with gentle pressure. 

“Yes. I think I am. I want… I don’t know. She’s… I don’t know. I want to know more if that makes sense.” I was babbling, loose, relaxed and warm while being pampered; I was far freer with my tongue that I should have been. I could hear the laugh in his voice. 

“I knew it, Trick. You got hooked, huh?” Pete's eyes were sparkling, I could see that even without my glasses and I shook my head, snagging the showerhead and blasting him in the pretty, pretty face. His laughter made it worth it, and the $100 he dropped on the nightstand before we crawled back in bed, clean sheets and cleaner skin, showed me exactly what his thoughts were on the matter. Fortunately, mine was exactly the same and as I drifted off, my fingers twitched to make that next phone call.


	5. Surfing On The Dopamine High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another appointment and a request... And more rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... This happened, somehow, in jumbled bits and pieces this happened all over the course of twelve hours, but it has absolutely been brewing for some time. 
> 
> So here it is... This may not be everyone cup of tea, and it has not been beta read because that is how  
> I roll.
> 
> All of the love to the Birb Pack for their support, love, endless cheerleading and, most importantly, believing in me when I couldn't believe in myself. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Aural Satisfaction: Super Fade by Fall Out Boy (again)

It was storming again and the slow wind of the sleek car through wet city streets was comforting in the area best of ways. It was a ritual of this work, just as much as the makeup, hair, and clothes were; shedding who I was and becoming an amplified, artificial, golden plated version of myself. Everything I knew, everything that I was comfortable with was traded for something perfect, something beautiful, something which was someone else's idea of perfection. With a few changes, it could have been a fairy tale. Cinderella had one night at the ball and turned back at midnight; I had an endless stream of them but the handsome princes that were always talked about somehow never showed, replaced instead by a series of aging kings and flaccid dicks. Well, maybe not tonight. Tonight was just a bit different and as the car slowed to a stop in front of The Grant, I gave Gabriel a nod and he tipped his hat with a wink as I gathered my small purse and slipped from the car. 

My smile as I crossed the lobby was not entirely fake, a rarity for me on these nights and as I pressed the elevator button I let my mind wander to my first visit here. Patrick was adorable and earnest in a way that I had never seen before. Maybe it was his smile, the ghosts of calluses on his fingers, the familiar records dipped in gold that hung on his wall, the genuine concern he seemed to have… I didn't know, and probably wouldn't but I rarely, if ever, looked forward to work but there was a first time for everything. 

The knock echoes in the silent hallway, all sounds of the storm perfectly muffled by concrete, glass, metal, and wood. It takes just a moment before the door swings open and Patrick stands there for a minute, his eyes wide and appraising behind his glasses. 

"You gonna invite me in?" My voice is quiet and I smiled, just slightly, genuinely, as Patrick's cheeks tint a pretty shade of pink. 

"Yeah, yes, sorry. Please come in." At that he stepped back, pushing the door closed behind me as I paused in the foyer. There wasn't much difference in the apartment since my last visit, despite the time that had passed, but there seemed to be more things…. Notebook, pens, a keyboard set up and an electric guitar and amp in the corner. It was a familiar one, almost naggingly so, although it had been so long since I'd seen one in person that it escaped me. A basket of laundry sat beside the couch and a leather jacket was cast off onto the armchair by the window, lightning flashing in the distance. 

"There's water on the counter if you want, and I have a beer, wine, tea…" Patrick was nervous again, his babbling almost adorable as he hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. "We can go out if you want- your shoes!" The last words were ones of seeming surprised and delight and I hummed, shifting my weight to show more of the ridiculously expensive and dearly adored shoes. Orange suede with a flash of red on the soles, they were bright against the white of my pants and had gotten the exact reaction I had been hoping for. 

"I saw your phone case and took a chance." Part of my job was to notice, pick up on tiny details that might make a difference, or another appointment. 

"It's my favorite color, thank you. I like it." he gestured absently from my head to feet and looked almost bashful. I traded my dress and the cocktail chic from our last meeting for a tailored suit, soft and white; it seemed more Patrick's preference than fussy dresses and jewels " And the hair suits you."

I smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I'd taken a chance and left the extensions behind more on the memory of sure fingers pulling just so than anything else and said as much. "it's a little easier to pull if it might not come out in pieces." Patrick sputtered, choking slightly on the water he had just swallowed and I tried to reconcile the mane before me with the same one I knew would whisper pretty, filthy words once we were tangled in his sheets. Once he had stopped coughing, I rested a hand on his arm, his cardigan warm and soft. "You okay?"

He nodded, blinking owlishly before glaring at the offending water bottle. "I'm good, sorry. You kind of caught me off guard for a second there. His fingers ghosted over the ends of my hair hanging just past my shoulders as a smile pulled at his lips. " So I have an idea, a question really, but we might wanna go-" His words trailed off as I beamed, all pearly enamel and not entirely false sincerity before snagging the gray hat from his head and balancing it on my own, glancing back just once as I headed towards the stairs. Patrick paused for the briefest moments, flitting with his phone and before I was halfway up the stairs, music filled the air. Sweet guitars, a twinkling piano, and precise drums with together in a glorious melody that was at the same time mournful and uplifting; it was beautiful. 

By the time I reached the bedroom, Patrick was behind me, his fingers toying with the button on my jacket. A brief nod was all he was needed and it was flipped open and slipped off my shoulders only to be laid gently over a nearby chair. The soft silk camisole was next and it was set aside with just as much care before his hands rested on my waist and stormy eyes met mine. 

"I want tonight to be about you. Is that okay? I think… I'd really like to make you feel good." There wasn't hesitancy behind the words, not really, but there was a question and I respected that almost as much as I appreciated it. It was a very, very rare luxury to have an opinion taken into account and even more so that it actually mattered. 

"Whatever you want, you know the rules." It was a subtle reminder of the balance of power, of who I was, what I did and the roles we both played, but it only brought a bright smile to Patrick's face, his eyes crinkling in the corners. 

"Thank you." It was genuine, sweet almost, and his fingers slipped up my ribs to skirt along the hem of my bra, teasing against the peach silk and lace. "Beautiful." It was little more than a gasp and I felt my own cheeks heat in an amusing role reversal of earlier and Patrick grinned, ducking his head to press his lips against my collar bone. There was no hesitancy to his movements after that first moment, and lightly calloused fingertips and warm lips slipped over my skin, familiar in a way I wouldn't let myself think about. It wasn't until he sunk to his knees that I met his eyes again, the question in them clear as day.

"Whatever you want." The words were an echo, catching just slightly in my throat as I nodded, fluttering my hands over Patrick's hair but not twisting in it, not yet. His grin was equally filthy and sweet, a delicate combination that slips heavier to the former as he unbuttoned my pants and slipped them over my hips and let them fall around my ankles. I stepped out of them, standing in nothing more than scraps of peach colored silk and lace and some stupidly expensive shoes. 

Patrick looked, just looked in a way I wasn't used to, a way I hadn't had in a very long time, before standing and taking my hand to lead me towards the bed. He tilted the hat on my head for just a moment before setting it on the nightstand beside my purse with a laugh. Quick work was made of his clothes, although he wasn't sloppy in the least, laying them with mine as I stretched out on the bed. The storm was picking up outside and rain lashed against the windows while thunder rolled. The air was cold against my skin just moments before Patrick's hands and lips were everywhere all at once. Teasing touches, gentle kisses, and deft fingers easily slipped off both my bra with a tenderness that I hadn't even realized I missed. I was warm, electricity sparking over my skin even before Patrick slipped his fingers beneath the sides of my panties and slipped them down my legs, tossing them aside before carefully, reverently sliding my shoes off. 

He didn't say a word, simply watched, his eyes dark with desire and want before easily sliding between my parted legs. He was teasing me, which was an unusual delight, alternating sweet kisses with gentle nips until he settled down, biting against the inside of my thigh and sending a wave of want through me as I shivered and bit back a whimper. Patrick chuckled and pushed himself up to hover above me, his lips near my ear. "Can I taste you, Erin, please? I promise it'll be good." I could feel his breath against my skin, warm and carrying the faintest hint of mint as I turned my head. Not into a kiss, never, but his lips brushed against my temple and I could feel his smile before he was gone again, the gentle click of glasses on the nightstand loud as the music switched over and there was a moment of silence before he was back between my legs. 

The pillows behind my head were fluffy and afforded me a beautiful view of cinnamon hair and rip-tide eyes before they vanished. A gentle touch, the tease of fingertips was the only warning had before Patrick’s tongue flicks over my clit, soft and precise, time and again until I'm writhing beneath him, his grip on my hips gone. Any words I may have had were replaced with wanton moans as Patrick licked and teased, alternating the waves of bliss with tiny, sharp nips against my thighs. The tiny sparks of pain both offset and intensified the pleasure as his tongue circled and lapped against me. 

I trembled with every new movement and gasped when his pace changed, the soft sounds escalating to cries as I twisted my fingers Patrick’s hair, soft and barely wet with sweat, to pull him closer and hold him there, exactly where I needed him. The sensation was almost overwhelming and every pretense I had of control slipped as one finger, and the two slid easily inside me, moving with an almost musical precision. 

I was on fire, desire sparking through my veins with every touch of Patrick's tongue, each twist of his fingers. It wasn't until he curled them just so that I fell apart, shattering as I squeezed my eyes closed right enough to see purple sparks behind my lids as I trembled shaking beneath him. The purple sparks faded to white before I released a breath I wasn't even aware I'd been holding. I was shaking more than I cared to admit and the stinging in my eyes had less to do with the orgasm than it did the memories that flooded back, broken and out of focus as they clicked through my mind; Calloused fingers, a blinding smile, guitar strings, and brake lights reflected in wet pavement. It was easy to blame the sting in my eyes on something, anything other than what it was and, as I was pressing a foil packet into Patrick's hand before losing myself in him, I swore I could hear a whisper of a name, one that I know had never passed Patrick's lips. It must have been my imagination in overdrive because it was the one thing that was impossible, the one thing that I would never hear beneath the gasps, moans, and cries of pleasure that wound with whispered curses that as the storm raged on outside the windows.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me at Allkindsofplatinumandpercocet over on Tumblr. I don't bite!


End file.
